For Want Of A Nail
by C. S. Wiggins III
Summary: The future of the Wizarding World was thought to be set in stone; the ascension of the Boy-Who-Lived, and the end of the Dark Lord Voldemort. But what happens when a small change effects events solidified in Fate's plans? A ripple in a stream. Suddenly, the future isn't what it seems. (Multi-Crossover, Pairings Undecided)
1. Prologue: For Want Of A Nail

**HELLO!**

 **WELCOME TO…**

 _ **FOR WANT OF A NAIL**_

 **A** _ **Harry Potter/Multi Crossover**_

 **I own nothing besides the plot, corny jokes, and my soul.**

 **Chapter 1: For Want Of A Nail**

 **"For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,**

 **For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,**

 **For the want of a horse the rider was lost,**

 **For the want of a rider the battle was lost,**

 **For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost,**

 **And all for the want of a horseshoe-nail."**

 **-Benjamin Franklin**

 **October 31, 2001**

It was a windy, somber night as the robed figure made his way down the suburban street. Cookie-cutter houses, each more dull and lifeless as the last, served to further his depression.

Idly, he reached an old, wrinkled hand into the inner breast pocket of his cloak, and withdrew an equally old silver lighter.

Coming to a stop at an inconsequential home, no more different than the last, he pondered the circumstances that led him to this dark home, on this rather drab street.

What more could he have done?

Did his actions, failures condemn an innocent family to death?

And for what?

 _The Greater Good_

The thought of it made him shudder, the flames and stench of death of _another_ ill-begotten war scarring his mind.

He'd always done his best, but contrary to popular opinion, he was not, in fact, infallible.

He failed Gellert.

He failed Tom.

He failed Harry.

Yet he strode on.

And with a flourish of his hand, he raised the lighter.

 _Click._

 _Click._

 _Floosh._

Light after light on the street went dark, sucked into the dull abyss of his deluminator, allowing him to get closer to the house unseen.

"You should be more careful." the scolding voice of his Deputy Headmistress called into the night. "The muggles aren't as blind as you think."

Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of The Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of The ICW, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and his personal favorite; purveyor of lemon drops, let out a low chuckle of amusement.

"Worry not, Minerva," he said, a smile twitching at his lips. "Electricity can become faulty at random. By the time anyone notices, we will be long gone, and young Harry will be safe at last."

Minerva, to both his amusement and exasperation, pursed her lips in disapproval.

"Albus," she scolded. "Are you sure this is the right decision? I've watched them like you said, they are the worst sort of muggles! Honestly..."

Dumbledore cut her off with a sigh, shaking his head.

"Minnie," he said softly. "We already talked about this, with Sirius missing, and Lucius and Narcissa being his closest relatives in the magical world, we can't risk keeping him any longer. Young Andromeda and Ted do not have the means to take care of an extra child right now, and with the blood laws still in effect..." he trailed off. They had already argued this point, and both she and he knew the result.

Minerva's righteous female fury deflated with a tremble of her shoulders.

"I know Albus." she assented. "I wish we could take him in, but Hogwarts is no place for a child his age, its just too dangerous."

Albus nodded his head in agreement. He was feeling all of his One-Hundred-and-Six years in this very instant. Like Sisyphus and his boulder. His weight just got heavier.

"He'll be safe here." he insisted, just as much to himself as he did to her. "The Blood Ward from young Lily's sacrifice will keep any with hostile intent away from the home."

Minerva, by this point, had been mollified. Pulling her robe open, wand in one hand, she withdrew a bread-loaf sized bundle she had been holding within.

Pulling the blanket back, she eyed the young child in her arms.

A lighting-shaped scar, almost like a fissure, was the only blemish that marred the baby's face.

Albus approached Minerva carefully, mindful not to wake the child. Dropping the deluminator back into his pocket, he withdrew a small note from his pocket.

Arm-in-arm with Minerva, he made his way to the porch.

With a flourish of her wand, Minerva conjured a small wicker basket, and with care, slowly settled the small miracle into its confines.

Drawing his own, Albus kneeled and cast a warming charm on the basket, and with the note in hand, tucked it within the cradle.

Standing and brushing dust of his deep magenta robes, Albus mustered a small smile.

"Besides," he declared. "The boy won't be burdened by the weight of his actions. He will have a life, and grow strong and loved. He will be ready for him."

Minerva reached her hand out to Albus.

"I hope he will Albus. For his sake and ours."

And with a crack, they were gone.

* * *

In a story, told to generations, this would be the beginning.

A long set path of destiny, for the future of Wizard-Kind set in stone for triumph.

But this wasn't to be.

Green, vivid eyes, the color of the curse that struck him only hours earlier snapped awake, and a baby's wail carried from Number Four, Privet Drive, in Surrey, England.

Fussing in his cradle, a note was set free.

The wind gusted.

The future rippled.

The fate of Harry Potter had changed.

* * *

Vernon Dursley was a simple man.

That was one thing that could NOT be debated by anyone.

So, as a simple man, hearing a gunshot and a baby cry out in the middle of the night, he responded simply.

Flying from bed, surprisingly fast for a man of his girth, Vernon flew done the hall of his small home, double-barrel shot gun in hand.

Bursting through the door of his nursery, he shuffled to the crib holding his child.

Young Dudley Dursley slept soundly through the noise, much to the relief of Vernon. He was also safe.

Petunia Dursley, however, was not.

"Vernon!" she hissed viciously in his ear. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing! It took me Three-and-a-Half hours to get him to bed and you come in here bursting through the house like a bloody lunatic! So help me God if he wakes up, not only is it your turn to put him down but I will have your bits!"

Motherhood would eventually be kind to Petunia, but the first few months had been hell. The stress of multiple nights' sleep lost had not only frayed her nerves but had begun to be a hazard to health. Vernon's, that is.

"Pet," he spoke softly. "Did you hear..."

Another cry pierced through the night and they both stiffened.

"Stay here," Vernon ordered, shouldering the gun that Petunia had just noticed in his trembling hands. "Stay with Dudley, its not safe Pet. I heard a gunshot. If anything happens, take Dudley and run."

Petunia went to respond, only to see her husbands form shuffling down their stairs.

For the second time that night, a mother was left to defend her child.

* * *

 **Bit of a cliffy. Vernon and the next chapter will be up tomorrow. I think. TTYL!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

 **Beginnings**

 **"Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible." -Saint Francis of Assisi**

* * *

Vernon trudged down the stairs, gun in hand. Taking mind to poke through a blind at the front window, he observed the empty street.

The street lamps were shut of, cloaking the neighborhood in darkness.

Probably ruddy teenagers. He mused grumpily. Halloween night tended to be a draw to delinquents and ne'er do wells like a moth to a flame. Property damage in a suburb like this should have been avoidable. He worked hard at Grunnings to be able to afford the mortgage on his home. It was supposed to be a nice neighborhood, where his little Dudley could grow up and thrive.

Better than the one he grew up in.

He digressed.

Shaking free loose thoughts, Vernon approached the front door. His trembling left hand reached for its handle. His gun clamped tightly in his right.

Steeling his nerves, Vernon swung the door open with a crash.

Only to hear crickets.

Now this is getting ridiculous, he thought. I know what I heard...

A piercing wail startled the large man, causing him to stumble in the door frame. His rather large figure slamming into the ground viciously. Right hand still clutched tightly to the gun, his index finger jerked, sending a wall of buckshot into the door frame.

Vernon, moving faster than he had in years, tossed the gun in an overhand throw, causing yet another shot to strike a rather tacky pink flamingo in the yard, obliterating its fiberglass frame in a fine pink mist. Arms now raised, he dove to cover the now identified baby bundle laying on his porch.

 _Kriiiiiissshssh!_

Vernon winced as the hot wooden fragments of the door frame showered down on his back.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, looking down at the child now in his arms. "Petunia!"

Footsteps crashed down the stairs, along with another child's wailing highlighting each footstep.

A simple flick of a light switch illuminated the porch Vernon and the child resided on. Petunia stepped closer to the open door, a now whimpering Dudley clutched tightly to her breast. Pale-faced, Petunia called out tentatively.

"Vernon?" she asked. "Are you alright, should I call an ambulance?"

"Call the bobbies, Pet, some bloody bastards left a kid on our porch!"

Petunia, with Dudley in tow, burst through the now damaged door frame and swooped up the child, a small toddler, into her open arm.

"What kind of bloody idiot would leave a baby on a porch in the middle of autumn? The child could of froze to death!"

Vernon nodded in agreement, only now noticing the cool breeze of the Halloween night. His adrenaline rush had finally worn off. Raising his chilled finger tips to his mouth, he blew, bringing some feeling into his now shaking hands.

"Here love," he spoke softly, outstretching his arms. "I'll go put Dudley down, don't want the bobbies to scare the little tyke."

Petunia nodded and shifting the lighter babe closer to her hip, passed Dudley off with a precision only a young mother could match.

Vernon quickly marched through the broken door frame to put Dudley down for the night.

Turning outwards to the deserted street, Petunia watched as various porch lights illuminated the darkness of Privet Drive.

"Mrs. Dursley," a voice Petunia recognized to be her neighbor, Mr Hendrickson, called out from his porch across the road. "Are you alright?"

"We're okay," she replied shakily. "Call 999, someone left a baby on our porch!"

Mr Hendrickson gave her a sharp nod in reply and scurried into his home, off to find a telephone.

Various neighbors, such as the Clindesdale's and Dickerson's, seeing the issue cared for, resolved to find out details in the morning. Tomorrow was a work day, and their own children would wake in a few hours.

Petunia huffed in agitation at the whole ordeal, cradling the child in her arms closer to her chest in an attempt to keep them both warm. Her nightgown doing little for that regard. Pushing a lock of her brown hair she squinted down at the child in her arms.

The child was now sleeping soundly, having exhausted himself from his fit of discomfort. He couldn't have been more than six months old. A tiny child, the babe was curled tightly into his thin blanket. A dark, nearly black tuft of hair clung to his forehead loosely. Tear tracks lined his chubby, rosy red cheeks. But that was not what drew her attention.

Not even close.

On the child's forehead was scar. Marked like pure lightning arcing in the sky, right above the child's right eye his entire forehead was marred by a disgusting fissure that cut jaggedly across his otherwise innocent features. The scar was relatively new, judging by its fresh red look, and could only have been a few days old.

What repulsed her was it couldn't have been natural. It was too symmetrical. Too imperfectly perfect to have been caused by anything but human hands.

Reaching down tentatively to prod the injury, she withdrew her hand as if burned.

How dare those... those... frEAKS injure an innocent child!

Oh she remembered her sister. Lily was her best friend as a child. And those wand waving ungodly heathens had driven them apart. She honestly missed Lily, but after her bastard husband James and his friends rudely traumatized Vernon at her father's funeral, there was no love lost between them. Lily refusing to apologize for James and his "Marauder's", and Petunia too appalled by him turning Vernon into a pig at the memorial luncheon to care.

 _"It was an innocent joke, Tuney."_ she had cried. _"James and Sirius have the emotional range of a teaspoon, they were trying to make us feel better!"_

Feel better her bloody, tattered cu...

Hearing the wail of sirens down the road abruptly interrupted her thoughts.

Petunia gazed at the child in her arms. The wrongness of his scar could only have been from magic.

And there was going to be hell to pay.

* * *

 **AN: I am in fact, alive. I just finished my first year of college and finals were happening around the time I last updated. That coupled with forty hour work weeks effectively killed my drive to write, but its back! The story has been reclassified and a timeline fully completed. The Avengers will play a major part much later. So for now, its listed as Justice League/Harry Potter. It will include elements from** ** _Percy Jackson, Stargate, Dresden Files, Buffy, Dragon Ball, Mass Effect, Supernatural, Battlestar Galactica,_** **and various** ** _Marvel_** **stuff. I'm attempting to build an expansive universe. So please bare with me. Various elements may or may not take place for a long time, and even then will be minute in some aspects. I'm giving credit to where credit is do, however. I own nothing but the plot line and any minor oc's that may or may not be introduced. Please review and favorite if you could. It would be greatly appreciated! And if you don't like it, don't read. There's no reason for both of us to suffer.**


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